In ship and prison

by William P. Chipman

As he spoke, a young fellow, who looked scarcely older than myself, though I learned later that he was just over twenty-one, stepped forward and offered me his hand.

“I’m glad to see you, Master Dunn,” he said in a hearty way that quite won my heart, “and I welcome you on board the Young Phoenix.”

Possibly my face revealed my surprise at finding the executive officer of the vessel but a stripling, for as I took Master Marshall’s hand, the Captain remarked: “Yes, it’s the Young Phoenix—young in name and young in age, for she is only three years old, and what is more fitting than that she should have young mates? Ha! ha! ha!” and he laughed quite boisterously over his attempt at pleasantry.

For myself, I thought his laughter unseemly, and for some reason, though I could not then have told why, it grated on my ears. But the irritation I experienced was forgotten or overlooked the next moment, for, turning to two sailors who stood near, Captain Weston directed them to take my luggage down into the cabin. Then, speaking to me, he added:

“And come right along yourself, Master Dunn. I’ll show you your quarters, and have you sign the ship’s articles, and explain to you about the watches. Then we’ll be ready to get under weigh.”

In five minutes these preliminaries were attended to, in ten minutes more the anchor was hoisted, and, with all sails set, the brig was standing out of the harbor. The breeze was a good one, the vessel proved herself a good sailer, and before sundown we were out of sight of land.

I do not imagine there was ever a more complacent lad than myself when I took the second watch at eight bells, and found myself for the time in sole command of the vessel. The night was a beautiful one; the stars showed bright and clear in the deep vault over my head; the wind—a west one—bore us rapidly along our course; the brig responded to every touch of the wheel like a thing of life; and my own feelings were in keeping with my surroundings.

I walked the quarter-deck with a slow and dignified tread, occasionally pausing to direct some member of my watch to tauten a rope, or ease up a sail, or to keep a sharp lookout forward. Perhaps these commands were not always necessary, but I issued them partly to impress my men with the feeling that I, though young, was equal to the place I had been called to fill, and partly that I might test the working of the vessel and familiarize myself with her peculiarities. For, though you may not know it, each ship has her own whims and moods, and only he who is thoroughly acquainted with them can have full mastery over her.

So the minutes rolled away, each new discovery about the brig increasing my complacency and giving shape to my thoughts. Here it was less than forty hours since I had left home, and, though I had not found Captain Tucker, I was in a better berth than he would have been likely to give or find for me, thanks to my fortunate meeting with Captain Weston. My quarters on the vessel were all I could ask; the meal I had eaten at dusk had revealed the fact that the captain was a good provider; the first officer, Master Marshall, appeared to be a good sort of a fellow and one I could easily get along with. On the whole, I was better off than I had even dared to hope or expect.

So I mused, and among my musings was one that took the form of a resolve: Captain Weston should have no occasion to regret the confidence he had put in me. I would do all that was possible to win his approbation, until I had been advanced to the position of first officer. From that it would be an easy step to the command of some vessel—and when that place was reached I could go back to my native village with pride and elation. Anyway, no more forecastle for me. I was in the cabin, and there I would stay until I was Captain Dunn.